


Really Wild

by TheBestAtNotVeryNice



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Springwatch (TV)
Genre: 90s Nostalgia, Dark Comedy, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBestAtNotVeryNice/pseuds/TheBestAtNotVeryNice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As little Timmy died, he thought how wrong his mum was about that nice young man off the the telly...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really Wild

'New Summer of Love, my arse.' Ravers weren't worth this much trouble to find. The drizzle was light, the breeze mild, but after an hour the pitch black East Anglian countryside felt bleak. Even if he found them now, he had no idea where he was or how to get back to Dru. If he fed, the ecstasy would have worn off before he got home for a shag. Hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jeans, eyes scanning the middle-distance for a glimmer of light, listening for the tell-tale bass thump, the ditch caught him by surprise. He landed hard, and swore cathartically into the mud. Bright white light hit him full in the face.

‘What the buggering fuck?’ Spike was upright and facing the enemy in a split second.  
‘It’s _him_ ,’ the small child shone the torch directly into the vampire’s face, forcing his hand over his eyes. ‘See his hair?’  
‘Are you looking for badgers too?’ The older child, a girl by the sound of it.  
‘Bugger the bloody badgers,’ Spike smirked, licking his own congealing blood from his upper lip. He heard the door of the unseen cottage open, and the first soft footsteps crunch on a gravelled yard. ‘The ravers too’ he thought to himself; he had a better present for Dru than ecstasy.

Just seconds after the punky-looking blond man had appeared, Sarah found herself alone in the badger watching den she’d pretended she was too cool to want to build. Tim was gone, and so was the torch. She slapped both hands over her mouth, stifling her own breathing, and listened as hard as she could. Silence, apart from the usual rustle of trees and grass. A scream, that turned into a gurgle more horrible than Sarah thought anything could be; even in the darkness, she knew that damp, wet sound was made by blood. The familiar pattern of the kitchen light on the grass, for a single second, made everything safe and normal, until the sounds of her father’s hurried footsteps stopped short with a heavy thump.

He’d almost drained the mother by the time the light came on behind him. The child clasped to one side, the woman the other, strong hands over their mouths to stifle the scream, not prevent it. He liked it when they screamed. He dropped the dying woman, and swung round to punch her husband with a single fluid motion. Glass-jawed, the man dropped like a stunned heifer. Spike realised the dampness of his t-shirt was increasing, but the rainfall was not. He shook the unconscious child vigorously in anger; ‘dirty little sod,’ he muttered aloud. He decided not to go back for the girl; it was undignified to stalk a victim reeking of human piss.

The police found her late the next morning, curled up in a ball at the bottom of a dried stream bed, following the discovery of her father’s old Jeep abandoned, blood-soaked, and hot-wired on the edge of an industrial estate. Sarah has never changed her story, even after twenty six years of therapy. They told her she had to move on, that she was wrong. They blamed her father. They never found her brother. For a while, she wrote letters to the BBC and the newspapers. Not even the tabloids would print her version of events. Over the years she’s written to the RSPB, the Wildlife Trusts, and many more conservation trusts to warn them about the monster in their midst. They did not reply. Sarah knows what she saw, she knows that the blond man was there, really there that night. And she’s certain she knows who he is; he’s got a restraining order with her name on it. And next week she knows where he’ll be – the badgers are back, and BBC Springwatch are coming to film. Sarah will be ready this time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculously British, and won't probably make sense to anyone not watching CBBC Really Wild Show between 1986 and 1993. But, I can't be the only one who sees the resemblance??


End file.
